Velvet
by ARoseWithThorns
Summary: Movie version. He made her, molded her, created her, and she could not leave him, no matter how much she knew she should have. The story of V and Evey, reshaped and vivified. Please see the author's notes on the first chapter.


**A/N:** Hello, Readers.  I'm going to start this story to be an ongoing project, meaning I'm going to take my time on it, so I'll update as I'm able to, but I'm going to make sure it's better for quality rather than quickly put out. I apologize in advance for any delay in updates there will certainly be as I go along, but I promise to eventually finish what I started, regardless of how long it takes.

There was a challenge called "Velvet" in the discussion forums from back in '06, where the story must include "rain, soft velvet shoes, and a gift; a hard wooden floor, and a broken mirror." There was no deadline set for it, and while I'm unsure if anyone has attempted to do it, I'm going to go for it and just enjoy. I usually have an outline mapped out for my work, but with this I'm just going to start it (as is) with those objectives in mind, and go from there. Please feel free to leave any feedback you'd like, I hope you all enjoy this. This story is not beta'd, so please bear that in mind. I'll be as attentive as I can to grammar and spelling.

This story will be rated M. I'm uncertain where I'm going to take it, but given the volatile, verbal and vulgar viciousness V and our VIP Evey have verily veneered, vigilance for veracity's sake veers virtuously valid. In English, you know if you are mature or legally of age enough to read mature or legal-of-age material. Personal integrity applies. ;)

**Standard Disclaimer that will apply to the rest of this story:** I do not own anything to do with "V for Vendettta"; it's fan fiction, folks. I'm sad and I write for enjoyment. Enough said.

**A quick set up –** Here's where I'm coming from. Movie version. As our story opens, Evey has gathered her things together in her duffel bag and left V after being imprisoned by him. They have already said their goodbyes, and this is her first day on her own and trails her right after she leaves the Shadow Gallery. My version in how she adapts or does not adapt will be much different from the movie/comic. POV will be third person. The first chapter is a very long one, but integral for plot development. I welcome any and all comments. Enjoy.

How she found her way through the dark, debris-littered tunnels from the Shadow Gallery into the light of day, she would never know. But she was out. The day was slightly hazy, with shards of sunlight filtering in and out as the clouds bunched together and broke apart.

In a way, this was slowly becoming one of the most illuminating, clarifying days she had ever had. She imagined this must be how a blind person saw the world. Noises, smells that normally had never caught her attention before – the heel of someone's trainer scuffing the ground as they waited for the double-decker bus, the rattling contents of a woman's purse in front of her as she walked complacently down the path past the shops – all of these caught her attention now, vivid and stark in their reality. Could they sense her misplacement and alienation in their world? Could they feel her strangeness? Funny, she thought as she went along, how the weather in London was comparable to a moody woman during a certain time of the month.

Evey found herself in Covent Garden, walking past an open air French market that had wooden crates attractively stepped with stuffed green olives, cheeses, nuts, bread, candles, and pastries. Of course the prices were extortionate and the food just foul-tasting, average imitation of the real thing (targeted primarily for the rich), but it wasn't illegal to notice the smells and beauty. She paused for a moment as one of the sellers wrapped a round loaf of bread in white, wax paper and tied it off with a thick, hay-colored string for a customer. She noticed how the crinkling of the wax paper the seller made when he swaddled the soft, brown bread in it made the same noise as the shirts her mother used to flap in the breeze as they hung out to dry. An image of Valerie flashed in her head. It was strange, she could see her in her mind's eye, and she wondered if she and V shared the same image of Valerie. _I must stop thinking of him_.

On she wandered around the shops for hours, just looking dead-eyed at Norsefire propagandaand soaps and clothes she never meant to buy, wondering what V must be doing, what might be going on in his inscrutable head.

It felt like a great, terrible weight was bolting her to the floor with each painful step she took. Every step forward seemed to cement the reality of her situation more and more deeply. She had been imprisoned for three months. Three long, grueling months where she daydreamed of V rescuing her, until finally all hope had been abated, the investment of it turned over to Valerie's scrawling.

She walked solemnly along the pier to the Thames River, her hands in her pockets, passing a defiant performance artist, standing statuesque on top of boxes, dressed as V, mimicking her as she passed by. In one hand he held a white poster with the words "For Freedom" boldly printed in masculine script, in the other he held a set of scales that one might weigh sugar upon. Evey's jaw dropped. V had certainly changed the world; this man who dared to stand atop the box was surely headed for one of Creedy's black bags, but the stance of utter rebellion and satisfaction that he seemed to emit tugged at her heart. Where she would not even dare to stop and look at him in passing before, she now openly stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. _See what V has done. See what he's done for this country already._

She moved along. At a more deserted portion of the pier where there was only a young couple holding hands and leaning together against the barrier that separated the pier from the Thames, she found a vendor selling warm, honey roasted peanuts with a thick, crusted coating. He was an old, gray-haired man with a careworn face, wearing a dark blue coat and a flat cap, and he seemed oddly misplaced amongst the gray, systematic and dreary world of Norsefire, which is perhaps what drew her to him. The sweet, warm aroma floated over to her from several feet away, and she realized she had not eaten all day. V had placed a delectable, enticing breakfast on the table for her that morning, of course, but she knew that she had to leave, and she had left the meal scandalously untouched.

"Can I get you something, love?" the vendor behind the stand asked.

"Yes, I'd like a bag, please." Evey said, and she was amazed to hear how meekly it came out of her, sounding nothing like her usual stalwart self.

The old man smiled at her gently and scraped the roasted nuts on the oven around with a metal spatula. "T'll be two quid. Getchya the warmest ones yet, right off the cooker. It's a bit too fresh out to be without 'em, eh?" He chatted, scooping several crisp-covered, warm nuts into a small, white paper bag.

Evey glanced wistfully at the Thames, and Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament which aligned it in the distance. Her nose was cold. _It'll be gone in a few months, _she thought, admiring the intricate structure of the grand building.

She put her hand into her coat pocket to get the change, feeling something soft and pliable and warm amidst her coins. Pulling it out, she let out a little sigh as she looked down at Valerie's scroll of toilet paper, completely intact.

"How in the world did you get in there?" she muttered to it, realizing V must have snuck it in her pocket somehow before she left. A memory of that morning flashed in her head, before she turned to go, V had come quite close to her with a soft, black satchel. "Evey, please take this. There's money in here, enough to sustain you for a while. Please do it for me. I can't bear the thought of you with nothing out there."

Despite the warring resentment and hatred in her heart, the corners of Evey's mouth lifted slightly. "You sneaky son of a bitch," she murmured to the little scroll.

"Pardon?" the old man said. She shook her head, coming out of her reverie, and smiled.

"Nothing. Sorry, did you say something?" she asked distractedly.

"The shrapnel, darlin'." He said kindly.

"Oh yeah, excuse me." She found two, one-pound coins in her pocket and handed them over.

"Ta," he said, and put the money away. "Enjoy your day, miss!" he called after her.

She strolled slowly away, placing a few of the toasty peanuts to her cold lips. They were sweet, warm, and scrumptious in her mouth. She half turned and glanced at the old man before making her way once again along the Thames.

As she passed the young couple, she saw the young man, a blonde, flicky-fringed youth, take the girl's hands in his own and kiss them to warm them up. He rubbed both of her hands while looking in her eyes with adoration. The girl kissed him lightly and smiled sweetly at him. "Love you," she said in a strong London accent before they embraced.

Evey frowned, looking down at her peanuts as she continued walking. She put Valerie's scroll back in her coat pocket with one last glance at it. She could remember every detail of that night, the water-and-rice sound of the rain as it beat a symphonic tattoo on the roof of her "cell", the way her fingers trembled as she read the last few lines of Valerie's biography. . .

She plodded on, once again feeling horrible for what she had done, and the fact that she had probably ruined everything by leaving him. But what choice did she have? She could not look into his mask without feeling betrayed. How often had she dreamed of his warm, velvet voice, only to be hung, shackled naked as he in disguise trained the power hose on her most sensitive areas. Evey shuddered and crossed her arms as her nipples reacted to the chill and memory. Did he enjoy what he did? Did he derive satisfaction from harming her?

The afternoon came upon her more quickly than she expected, and she neared the hill of steps to St. Paul's Cathedral, one of the last-standing old buildings that Chancellor Sutler had not shut down, and decided on the spur of the moment to go inside. The chilly air assaulted her cheeks, waking her up a bit from her musing stupor. As Evey scaled the stairs, she looked at the spread out mixture of students, tourists, and an old couple that sat on the famous stone steps eating lunch, perusing Norsefire-approved magazines, community newspapers and chatting.

When she came here with her parents as a little girl, there had been no entrance fee unless you wanted to take photographs, but she now paid the paltry sum of nineteen pounds. _V would call it blasphemy. _She found herself walking towards a deserted pew.

Tourists meandered on the sidelines, and she saw some making their way down into the vast crypt. Others were on their way to see the view at the top or admire the monochrome frescoes of the Whispering Gallery.

A little ray of sunlight filtered in over Evey from the overhead stained glass where she sat alone, casting a brilliant effect on the treasury of intricately detailed paintings that adorned every nook and corner of its soaring arches, etched in gold and magnificent color. Her gaze traveled toward the huge open space below the main dome, and on to the series of the smaller, vividly decorated domes that ascended the choir area and distant high altar.

Feeling warmer now, she slowly slid her scarf off her neck and placed it next to her, taking her thin coat off as well.

A boys' choir was being lectured to by their choir master, and each of the youth stood in the pews perusing their Creedy-approved musical tomes as he spoke. She heard V's voice in her head as she looked at the stained glass windows. _They are prisoners, Evey._

On instinct, she pulled out Valerie's note and unscrolled the last little bit. "And even though I may never meet you… hug you… laugh with you… cry with you… please understand when I say that I love you. With all my heart. I love you. –Valerie." For the first time ever, Evey noticed that the hand writing was more jaggedy in that last little paragraph than the rest. Certainty filled her heart that Valerie never got a chance to finish the letter. V finished it for her. But not for Valerie, for _her._

_With all my heart. I love you._

Evey inhaled deeply and let go, relaxing and contemplating the crazy events of the last year. It was amazing, she thought as she took in the array of spirituality and architecture around her, how she had been here many times before but had never been able to absorb of its soul so fully as she did now. She knew clearly now that until she had met V, she had lived her life in fear and seen the world through jaded eyes; as one looks upon a soft flower without actually seeing the way the light dances upon its petals. His words echoed in her mind with indelible pain:

_Every day we make decisions that will determine our future. We're in our own world, but we also live in a world. We make choices. We hold the future in our hands, and it's up to us to shape it._

The boys' choir started to sing a stirring hymn a capella in Latin, and Evey could feel tears sting in her eyes as the realization crashed over her like a giant tidal wave. She looked down and saw her hands shaking slightly.

_I didn't know what it was to love or have faith until I met him. Everything has changed – the way I think, the way I feel ... what I believe. Even colors look different. I was so sure of everything before, but also so wrong. I am only sure of one thing now; that I-_

"Love him," the words barely escaped her lips. Tears slid out of her eyes as she whispered, "I've lost him." The angelic rise of the celestial hymn hit her hard as she sat there, and Evey eventually buried her face in her hands.

_I have to go back._

She collected her duffel bag and effects, and left the Cathedral, stepping on the nearest bus.


End file.
